


Find A Home

by Loremaiden



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Community: watsons_woes, Crossover, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 09:30:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4430171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loremaiden/pseuds/Loremaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson fears his writing will never see the light of day...until he receives some divine inspiration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find A Home

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to JWP 2015 #26 (The One You Were Expecting) on Watson's Woes. I had expected a crossover prompt by now, so here's a crossover fic! Bonus points if you can spot the reference to a third 'verse.
> 
> The One You Were Expecting: Everyone expects certain kinds of prompts in JWP. Today's prompt is exactly that: the one you personally had expected to see by now, but haven't. Whether that's a 221B challenge, a woeful injury, or a cracktastic combination - well, it's whatever you expected from JWP!

Watson had ducked himself into a rather strange bookshop while escaping the sudden downpour that had interrupted his ambulatory brown study. There was no rhyme or reason to the organization of the shelves. Brand-new books stood side-by-side with ancient tomes that looked to be created before the dawn of the printing press. There was an empty slot between a forest-green _The History and Practice of English Magic_ and a tattered, oddly-named _Buggre Alle This Bible_. Watson tried to imagine his book nestled in the space.

"Can I _help_ you, sir?"

The bookseller startled him out of his depressed reverie; Watson had not heard any footsteps behind him. The man had kind eyes, but the effect was slightly marred by the flash of irritation in them.

"Oh, no sir, I am just looking. And trying to keep out of the rain."

Watson thought the irritation would increase in the man's gaze, seeing as he was wasting the bookseller's time by not purchasing anything. Instead, it disappeared as though it were never there. If anything, the bookseller seemed almost relieved.

"Oh, yes, it is raining rather hard. But that's Londinium for you, hmm?"

Londinium? "Errr, yes."

The slightly awkward small talk took a different turn. "If I am not mistaken, you have the air of an author about you. Am I right?"

Watson's dark mood returned with this innocent remark. He did not wish to speak of his failure to a complete stranger, but somehow, he felt compelled to tell this man the truth. "You are partly right. I _have_ written a book, but no publisher is interested. It will likely never find an audience."

"Have you considered serial publication? That young chap—oh, what is his name—Dickens! He's done very well for himself by going that route."

Watson was too preoccupied with mulling over this new idea to wonder at a fellow who called Charles Dickens a young chap when he had been dead for almost twenty years. "That...is a possibility. Yes... Perhaps it _would_ work better as a serial. I am in your debt, Mr...?"

"Fell. And have faith; I am sure your work will find a home somewhere."

 

A century and a failed apocalypse later, Crowley idly flipped through the pages of a magazine while he shouted to the back room of the closed bookshop. "Oh, come _on_ , angel! How long does it take to read a sodding book? We'll lose our table!"

Aziraphale's voice carried through the locked door. "Let me just finish this chapter, dear!"

"You said that three chapters ago!"

Crowley heard the rustle of pages turning faster and faster, and then the door at last opened.

" _Finally_ ," the demon growled as he carefully placed the autographed first-edition _Beeton's Christmas Annual_ back in its home.


End file.
